“He was as good as dead, by all rumour; but being a thief and an Arroquhar man, he naturally recovered: and now it's the oddest thing in the world that an accident of the nature, that is all, as Black Andy well must know, in the ordinary way of business, should bring about so much fracas.”
“It was part of my delusion,” said Count Victor, “to fancy Mungo not entirely innocent. As you observed, he opened the door with an excess of hospitality.”
“Yes, that was droll,” confessed Doom, reflectively. “That was droll, indeed; but Mungo hates the very name of Arroquhar, and all that comes from it.”
“Except our Annapla,” suggested Olivia, smiling.
“Oh, except Annapla, of course!” said her father. “He's to marry her to avert her Evil Eye.”
“And is she a Macfarlane?” asked Montaiglon, surprised.
“No less,” replied Doom. “She's a cousin of Andy's; but there's little love lost between them.”
“Speaking of bats!” thought Count Victor, but he did not hint at his new conclusions. “Well, I am glad,” said he; “they left me but remorse last time; this time here's a souvenir,” and he showed the button.
It was a silver chamfered lozenge, conspicuous and unforgettable.
“Stolen gear, doubtless,” guessed the Baron, looking at it with indifference. “Silver buttons are not rife between here and the pass of Balmaha.”